


Until the Sunshine Fades Away

by Marauders2003



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Childhood Friends, Coming of Age, Don't Judge Me, Eventual Romance, F/M, I'm also watching New Girl rn, I'm avoiding updating my computer for the 1500th time for this, I'm not taking any complaints about that, James is THAT kid, Lily's a tomboy cliché, Mrs. Potter is a frickin queen, Not Canon Compliant, Oops I'm diving into this overdone cliche, because that's TOTALLY why, but what if I add a useless OC to the prologue?, fight me, no regrets, we're gonna humanize Petunia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:33:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24974647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marauders2003/pseuds/Marauders2003
Summary: The only permanent thing is change. Nothing will last forever, and if even the smallest detail is altered, it might never exist at all. But what, defying all laws of science and logic, stands the test of time is the simple truth that, in any eventuality, James Potter and Lily Evans will always fall madly, hopelessly in love. AU in which James and Lily meet before Hogwarts.
Relationships: James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, James/Lily
Kudos: 6





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I know this is a gross and over-exploited misinterpretations of Chaos Theory, but I firmly believe in the ability of a minuscule something to change everything, so I'll just accept my mediocrity and move on.

> "It has been said that something as small as the flutter of a butterfly's wing can ultimately cause a typhoon halfway around the world." — Chaos Theory

It's quite a well-known story, of a villain who tried to prevent a prophecy and instead fulfilled it. It's rather fascinating, however, that the beginnings of said prophecy relied on a choice, one between such superficial things as pure-bloods and half-bloods. But the prophecy was about equals, and so the half-blood chose the half-blood, and, well, you know the rest.

Yet suppose a different choice had been made, not one such as this, but a much less consequential (or so it would seem) decision, made approximately fourteen years before the first ever became an ultimatum. Suppose that on 21 September, 1967, a crotchety old bloke named Alistair Barker chose to follow his lifelong dream and finally open his own bakery shoppe, just near Cambridge, where he grew up. He'd been advised all his life to take the safe option, and so he'd wasted his existence shuffling papers at a drill-making company by the name of Grunnings. But that morning, Alistair had looked himself in the mirror and saw what he truly was, an overweight, middle-aged man with no real personality. Disgusted, he'd headed right for his bank and withdrawn his life savings. He'd handed in his letter of resignation and felt relief and empowerment flood his brain. His wife called him a madman, his children irresponsible, but oh, was it worth it. . . .

Elsewhere, Thomas Evans had almost just clocked out on his lunch break when he'd been called into his boss' office. He'd been on the way home to surprise his wife and kids, Petunia and Lily, both of whom had been out of school sick all week with a rather nasty bug, and was rather surprised when Mr. Atkinson had called his name.

"Sir?" he said, stepping into the office, slightly nervous and more than a little confused.

Atkinson let out a good, long sigh from behind his desk. "Well, it seems dear old Barker has finally gone barmy. He quit this morning."

"Truly?" gasped Thomas, very nearly wringing his hat.

Atkinson pulled out a handkerchief and began carefully cleaning his eyeglasses. "Yes," he said, "And I've recommended you as a prime candidate to replace him. Should you accept, you will work less hours for higher pay."

"Forgive me, sir," stammered Thomas, "but didn't Barker work in West Country?"

"Yes, it would mean quite a move. To Devonshire, if I am to be specific." Atkinson nodded. "Would that be a problem?"

"No, sir," breathed Thomas, grinning from ear to ear. Just wait until Rose heard this! They could finally afford to move out of that minuscule house and into a real home, with a good school for the girls! "Thank you for this opportunity, sir! I won't let you down!"

"See that you don't," warned Atkinson. "You start in two months. I'm giving you the rest of the day off to inform your family and begin preparations."

"Of course, sir! Thank you, sir!" With that, and an awkward, entirely inappropriate salute, Thomas rushed from the room in such a frenzy that he nearly bowled over Tacey from the desk opposite him.

* * *

Four and a half weeks later, the Evans were settling nicely into a charming four bedroom house in an equally charismatic village known as Chudley, which had a fantastic school system and several children Petunia's and Lily's age, even if some of the people were a bit odd. There was a beautiful park just two streets over where the girls spent nearly all their time, and neighbors welcomed them from the instant they moved in.

In one particularly memorable instance, a Mrs. Euphemia Potter knocked on their door and invited the lot of them over for tea, as she lived just across the way, in a tasteful but quite large house. Petunia, as per usual, was dressed impeccably for a nine year old, with a pristine dress and a brilliant blue bow in her fair hair. Lily, on the other hand, seven and ever the handful, with her wild curls, had been at the park nearly all morning, and as such had grass stains on her stockings and dirt under her fingernails. Rose smiled sheepishly, tucked a stray hair behind her ear, and accepted.

Now, the Potters were, by all accounts, kind and respectable people, if not, for lack of a better term, eccentric, and, as several of the women gossiped to each other on slow Sunday afternoons, very, very well off. Mr. Fleamont Potter had been some type of businessman, although he never did, out of politeness, it was assumed, talk about his career in the presence of company. Curiously, despite having retired out of wealth and sheer age, they had a son, James, just Lily's age. Having given up on the idea of having a child prior to James, they considered him a miracle, and certainly raised him with the very best of the best, ensuring he'd want for nothing.

The Evans, however, being new, did not know these things, and so when they followed sweet Mrs. Potter to her lavish home and joined her for tea, Lily found herself sitting across from a boy she did not know, with unruly black hair and piercing hazel eyes. She was never one to be proper, like Petunia, or shy, like the girls from her old school, so she reached across the table, dirty fingernails and all, and said, "Hello. I'm Lily. And you are?"

The boy grinned, a smile that split his face and lit up his eyes in a way that was simply magnetic. "James," he replied, shaking her hand with a firm grip.

Lily looked him over and nodded, satisfied. "Well, James," she told him with the utmost confidence, "we're going to be good friends."


	2. Just a Little Bit of Magic

> "When there is kindness, there is goodness. When there is goodness, there is magic." — Cinderella  
> 

"Mum, can me and Lily be excused?" James pleaded as he writhed impatiently in his chair. "I want to go play!"

Mrs. Potter heaved a great sigh, but her eyes twinkled kindly. "Yes, you _may_ be excused, but" — she added as James shot up from his seat, grabbed Lily's arm, and began pulling her up — "remember what we talked about, dear."

James rolled his eyes. "I know, Mum."

Lily thanked Mrs. Potter (she certainly wasn't allowed out of tea time early at home) and, yanking her arm out of James' grasp, followed him to his sizable backyard. She didn't look back, but if she had, she'd've seen Petunia, prim as always, right where she belonged. Lily had long since learned that Petunia would rather remain with the adults and do boring things like sip tea and (ugh!) sew than play with her. And when she did want to play, she wanted to play _house_ , and _she_ wanted to be the mother! James, though, was _much_ funner, which, as Petunia snidely informed her once (proving her point), was not a real word. Of course, Petunia had also taken a rather obvious disliking to James, being that he was funny and lively and everything she wasn't. Just imagine, thought Lily with a shudder, what might have transpired had their family not moved! She might have never met James, or worse, she might have been forced to play with Tuney forever!

As if reading her thoughts, Lily's mum spoke up. "Petunia, darling, why don't you go play with Lily and James? I'd like to speak with Mrs. Potter about adult things."

"But, Mum —" Petunia protested.

Mum shook her head firmly. "You don't need to be worrying about what we're going to be discussing. Besides, it will do you good to make friends your own age. Go on, have fun! So," she turned to Mrs. Potter, ignoring the looks of outrage on both Lily's and James' faces, "what is school like here? My girls are starting next week."

As they all three trudged unhappily outside, Lily heard Mrs. Potter respond, "Oh, I wouldn't know. I homeschool James. . . ."

James turned to Lily. "I've got the _best_ idea for a game!"

The game, as it turned out, involved Smokey the cat, a ratty football goal that it looked James had constructed himself, and an oddly shaped ball that James referred to as a Quaffle.

"You two will be one team," decided James, "and I'll be the other, since I'm good enough to beat both of you." Petunia scoffed. "You," said James, spinning on his heel to face her, "will be the goalie. Your job is to make sure that I can't get this ball" — he patted the Quaffle — "through that goal. I," he continued, "will be trying to do just that. Lily," he said, facing her, "all you need to worry about is catching Smokey here." James deposited the cat in her arms. "He will run off at the start of the game, and when you catch him, the game is over. Your goal is to catch him before I score ten times. If you do that, your team wins. If you don't (the likely option)," he added, "I win." He gave them a satisfied look. "Sound good?"

" _I_ think it sounds stupid," input Petunia.

"Well, I like it," countered Lily. "What do you call it?"

James winked at her. Well, really, it was more of a blink, but she understood his intent. "Muggle Quidditch," he announced proudly.

The game turned out to be a bit of a mess, with Smokey refusing to run off when Lily gently set him on the ground, instead wrapping himself around her legs, and the net broke when James scored his first goal, but as it were, Smokey was indeed deceivingly fast, once James persuaded him to move, and Petunia was able to use her sewing skills to tie the net back together. Plus, she ended up being rather adept at catching the Quaffle, easily blocking four out of five of James' shots. Still, he managed to score ten times before Lily managed to wrap her arms around that blasted cat, and even though James did an annoyingly smug victory dance, he wrapped an arm around Petunia's shoulders, to her great disgust, and proclaimed, "You're all right, Evans."

Petunia surprised Lily by huffing, "I _suppose_ you're not so bad yourself, Potter." Her face softened. "It was a fun game."

Lily grabbed the nearest stick off the ground and pointed it at her menacingly. "Who are you and what have you done to my sister?" she demanded, trying and failing to resist the urge to smile.

Petunia only laughed, polite and refined, but with a hint of girlish enthusiasm.

From that point on, the three were inseparable. James often came over to their house for some of their mum's delicious biscuits, and they whiled away endless days in the boundless space of James' house. Lily, who very much loved her sister, even if they never quite saw eye to eye, was deliriously happy. She and Tuney hadn't gotten along so well since they were small children. Now they spent nearly every waking moment together. The three of them, Lily supposed, were a balancing scale. James bravely led them all to do things they never before thought possible; Petunia kept him grounded. But Lily was the bit in the middle which held them both together.

Her only vice was school. It was dreadfully boring. She was expected to sit in an uncomfortable chair that left her legs dangling (and no, she wasn't allowed to swing them) and be quiet. Meanwhile, her teacher, Mrs. McKinney, droned on and on and on and on. It was practically torture. Lily wished she could only be like James, who got to stay home all day. He was there every afternoon to walk them home from school, though, so she supposed the whole ordeal was a bearable, if unnecessary, evil.

"Of course, he won't be around forever, Lily dear," her mum told her once when Lily was voicing all of this. "He's off to boarding school in just a few years."

"Boarding school?" spat Lily in disgust, wrinkling her nose at the very thought. " _James_?" Why, the idea of it was simply laughable. James was arrogant, sure, but not the self-important, boarding school, rich boy type.

"Yes," confirmed Mrs. Evans with a bit of a sad smile; she knew how close her daughters had grown to the boy. "The same one his parents went to, I believe. Lovely school, from what I've heard Mrs. Potter say."

"But," protested Lily weakly, "I don't want James to go! I don't want anything to change at all! Why does he even need to go away to school? Why can't Mrs. Potter teach him forever?"

Mum only smiled gently, setting aside her knitting and pulling Lily up against her. "I know, dear girl. We're very similar, you and I. Change is scary to us, and we want everything to stay the same. But it can't, Lily. Eventually, everything must become different, but it's not necessarily worse. You know, I didn't want to move here."

"You didn't?" asked Lily, shocked but still feeling quite safe nestled up against her mother.

"No, it scared me," she said. "I know it wasn't much, but I'd spent ten years making that home what it was, and it absolutely terrified me to pack it all up and move to a place I'd never lived before. But if I hadn't, we never would have met the Potters. We wouldn't have this nice home, and Dad wouldn't be able to come home early most days. We're very lucky, Lily, I hope you know."

"I still don't want James to leave," Lily pouted. "I won't be able to see him anymore!"

"You'll still see him at holidays and during summer, probably. I believe his school starts on 1 September. And besides, you've still got until he's eleven," Mrs. Evans pointed out.

Lightbulb. Lily smiled slyly. "Mum," she said, "could I go with James to boarding school? And maybe Tuney could go too!"

"Petunia is older than you and James," reminded Mum. "And we don't have enough money to send you two to boarding school, regardless."

"But maybe in a few years, you could," supplied Lily hopefully. "Please, Mum, please!"

Mrs. Evans shook her head. "I'm sorry, love. It's just not possible."

Mrs. Potter, however, seemed to have quite a different opinion altogether. "I don't know," she mused to Mrs. Evans, watching Lily, James, and Petunia play the next day. The three had taken to trying to climb to the top of the largest tree in their yard, a gnarly old oak. Lily seemed almost to float from branch to branch, her determination shown clear on her face. Euphemia had chosen to settle down in Chudley of all places, as opposed to a town with a much higher wizarding population, because she'd wanted James to understand the importance of humanity above all else. She'd wanted him to play with magical children and with Muggles too. He knew magic existed, of course, but she'd sheltered him from the persisting, age-old, and very much wrong blood purism beliefs. Sometimes magical people had magical children, and sometimes they didn't, she'd told him. Sometimes non-magical people had magical children, and sometimes people didn't have magic at all. Anyone could have magic, and anyone could not, but Lily, she thought to herself, yes, it was very likely indeed that she did. Flowers seemed practically to bloom in her wake, and the sun shone a little brighter when she was in the vicinity, though Euphemia thought the latter was something she'd inherited from her mother. "It's a very selective school, but Lily may yet be able to go. She's a very special girl."

"She is very bright, yes," said Rose, almost dismissively, "but I fear Thomas and I won't be able to help her along as much as we'd like. We'd never be able to afford a school such as that, surely."

"Rose," said Euphemia sternly, "let money never be an issue between you and raising your truly incredible girls. Those two deserve only the best in life, and though I've only known you a very short time, I hope you don't mind that I think of them as a little my own. Humor an old woman, will you, and allow me to take care of whatever they need."

"You're far from old," blushed Rose, "and I couldn't possibly."

"You can, and you will," said Euphemia. "It's beyond selfish, but I'd like to claim a little credit when they're wildly successful one day."

Rose looked out at them, James and Lily already at the top and reaching down to give Petunia a hand. "All that matters is their happiness."

"Indeed," agreed Mrs. Potter.

* * *

One day, Mary-Anne Taylor followed Lily through the playground, taunting her about her fiery red hair.

"Quick, Elsie, you better fetch some water, because this freak's head is on fire!" she cackled, tucking one of her long blonde ringlets behind her ear.

"That's not a nice thing to say, Mary-Anne," retorted Lily, wishing she could have smooth brown hair, like her mother's, or straight fair hair, like her sister's. Instead, hers stuck out a bit in all directions, refusing to lay flat on her head, no matter how much she tried to tame it.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Mary-Anne replied with mock sincerity, "did I hurt your feelings? And what are you going to do about it, freak?"

Suddenly Elsie shrieked. "Mary-Anne! You hair!" she yelped.

For Mary-Anne's perfect curls were no more. In their place lay limp, oily, black strands. Mary-Anne grabbed fistfuls of her hair and, seeing it, screamed. "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?" she demanded, launching herself at Lily. "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE, YOU WITCH? CHANGE IT BACK! CHANGE IT BACK THIS INSTANT!"

Mrs. McKinney heard the commotion and came over. "What happened?" she asked urgently.

"THAT FREAK — MY HAIR!" cried Mary-Anne, pointing and clawing furiously at Lily, who was retreating in fear.

"I didn't — I don't — I don't know what happened!" Lily pleaded.

"Collect your things and go home, Miss Evans," said Mrs. McKinney brusquely. "I will deal with you tomorrow."

In tears, Lily ran home, afraid of what to tell her mother. How could such a thing have happened? Could she have really caused it? She couldn't've; she hadn't even _touched_ Mary-Anne's hair! What had happened? What would Mum and Dad say? Was she really a freak, or worse?

"Lily!" called Mrs. Potter before she reached home. "What's wrong?"

"Mary-Anne — hair — freak — me — my fault — I have — to tell — Mum!" she sobbed.

"You're in no state to talk to your mother right now," said Mrs. Potter. "Come here; some nice hot tea will do you some good."

"W-where's James?" asked Lily.

"With his father. Boys' day out," answered Mrs. Potter breezily. "You know blokes and their incessant need for chaos."

Lily smiled tightly.

When she had calmed down some, Lily told her what had happened. Mrs. Potter wrapped her in a big hug and told her it wasn't her fault, that she was absolutely perfect. And, for someone who had done strange things all her life, who'd been called a freak everywhere she went, that was comforting to hear.

That evening, Mrs. Potter sat the Evans down and told them about magic. She told them that it was real and that she and her family were wizards (and witch). When Thomas and Rose and Petunia refused to believe such an absurd notion, she pulled out a long, smooth stick that she told them was called a wand and flicked it.

"This is what my home looks like when you're not here," she told them. The broom stood up of its own accord and began sweeping. The dinner dishes started washing themselves. The figures in the pictures on the mantle and wall sparked into _motion_.

"This is it," wheezed Thomas. "I've finally gone as mad as old Barker."

"Oh, hold yourself together, Thomas." Euphemia rolled her eyes. "Muggles and their constant aversion to things they can't explain."

After she'd explained what Muggles were, she told them that sometimes Muggles had children that had magic. "Lily is one such child," she told a bewildered Mr. and Mrs. Evans. And she told them what had happened that day, what she'd witnessed Lily do that had, in the moment, been brushed off as a trick of the light. "Right now, her magic is uncontrollable, unpredictable. It's what's called 'accidental magic.' Usually it's fairly harmless, but it can be triggered or worsened by fits of anger or fear," she told them. "When she is eleven, she will doubtless receive a letter inviting her to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, which is the boarding school that I have been alluding to all these months. It is the best magical school in all of Britain and, in my opinion, the world. Fleamont and I went there," she said, motioning to herself and her husband. "And James will go as well. There, she will be taught to control and utilize her magic, among other things. And she eventually can work at the Ministry of Magic (our system of government) or have some other magic-related career."

"And what would happen if she doesn't go to this school?" asked Thomas hesitantly.

Mrs. Potter looked mildly shocked. "Well, I suppose I could homeschool her, but it's really more advisable that she go and be taught by the professionals —"

"No, I meant," Thomas interrupted, "what if she doesn't learn to use magic?"

"Excuse me?" said Fleamont venomously. "You've just been told that your child has access to a whole other world filled with people she can identify with more closely than anything else, and you want to _deprive_ her of that?"

"I want to know that she could still live a normal life, should she choose to," insisted Thomas. "I want to know that she wouldn't have to live in a separate world from her sister. I want to know what kind of effect this — this — _magic_ could have on my daughter developmentally, socially, physically! I want to know what this magic could do to my daughter before I ship her off to some damn hocus pocus school that I know nothing about!"

"James, dear, take Lily and Petunia outside," said Mrs. Potter briskly.

"Now that they know about magic, can I show Lily and Tuney my broomstick?" begged James excitedly.

"Sure, sweetie," responded Euphemia distractedly as she herded the children outside. "Now, look," she said, turning back to the adults just as Thomas mouthed 'broomstick' in bewilderment to Rose, "I understand your concerns. As a mother, I would have had the same ones had I not already known about magic, but it's much safer that Lily go to Hogwarts and learn to control her magic before it starts to control her!"

"It — what?" squeaked Rose.

Fleamont heaved a great sigh. "I've heard tales of children who tried to suppress their magic and became volatile. Sometimes they killed people, leveled villages, died. Their magic became more than they could handle and made them dangerous to themselves and anyone near them."

"Oh my goodness," said Rose, covering her mouth with her hand. "Thomas, we have to — we have to let her go."

"You need to understand that her magic is a blessing, not a curse, said Euphemia, sitting next to Rose, so young, and taking her hand. "It's not something you need to be afraid of. It's a beautiful, beautiful thing, magic, and we will be by her and you every step of the way. We'll teach you all about our culture, Hogwarts, and James will be Lily's friend and supporter throughout this journey. She can still have a relatively normal life and relationships with you and her sister. Some wizarding folk even marry Muggles. Thousands of wizards and witches live perfectly healthy, natural, and even longer lives. There's nothing to be afraid of."

"There's one thing to be afraid of," contradicted Mr. Potter darkly.

"Fleamont!" she reprimanded him. Now was simply not the time.

"I won't start this out telling them lies," he said simply before addressing the astonished and frightened Evans. "Some wizardkind believe in this absurdity called blood purity, in which a person, to be respectable, must come from a long line of wizards whose parents were wizards. As such, they are called 'pure-bloods.' Wizards who have some Muggle blood in their ancestry, which is nearly everyone, are called half-bloods. And wizards such as Lily, who have Muggle parents, are called Muggle-borns. These wizardkind that believe in blood purity think of half-bloods and Muggle-borns as dirty or worthless, when it is anything but true. It is possible that Lily may encounter prejudice," he conceded.

"So we would be sending her into a world that would target or judge her just for who her parents were?" asked Thomas.

"Yes," said Euphemia, "but don't let them stop your daughter from having the best any world can give her just because you're scared of the worst."

Thomas opened his mouth to speak, but then Lily flew past on a broomstick — _a broomstick!_ — and he couldn't bear the thought keeping all this from her, the good and bad. He looked at Rose and knew she was thinking the same. They'd follow Lily through all of it — the wonderful, and the terrifying too.

"So you're a wizard?" said Petunia slowly, still trying to wrap her head around.

"Yeah," affirmed James in a bit of a _duh_ -tone.

"And you're a witch?" she asked Lily, considering her in a way she'd never done before.

"I s'pose so." Lily shrugged.

"D'you think I could be a witch too?" Petunia asked James, the smallest glimmer of hope in her voice.

"No, I don't think so," James told her honestly. "But it doesn't matter," he assured her. "You're still the best Muggle I've ever met."

"Yeah," Petunia echoed, "I guess it doesn't."


	3. You Can Fly! You Can Fly! You Can Fly!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am the most bipolar writer, so I'm sorry about the super long wait, firstly, which it seems I apologize for a lot, and I'm sorry if this chapter — yes, the one you're about to read — is utter trash, and if it doesn't live up to your expectations, and if it falls into a bazillion clichés along the way. I can't imagine how some writers manage to churn out chapters on some kind of regular schedule, but I'll take what they're having, thanks.

> "It's kind of fun to do the impossible." — Walt Disney  
> 

"The trick is complete and total focus," James half-whispered. "You can't allow yourself for be distracted for a single second, like, say, NOW!"

His sudden screech caused Lily to flinch, dropping the card just as Petunia leant over to better examine the tower. A resounding _boom!_ echoed as Lily gracefully danced out of range of the rising mushroom cloud, miraculously free of soot, while Petunia came up sputtering, hair singed.

"And that," said James smugly, "is how to have the most fun possible with Exploding Snap."

Petunia coughed, expelling smoke. Her eyes narrowed, a telltale sign that the worst was yet to come. Lily and James shared a look and pursed their lips.

Outraged, Petunia glared between the two of them. She managed to get as far as her signature deep, I-am-gearing-up-for-the-rant-of-your-life inhale (which she choked on) before they burst into hysterical laughter, a noticeable improvement. She huffed in annoyance.

"Oh come on!" scoffed James. "You can't possibly miss the humor in this!"

Just as Petunia geared up to grind out, "Oh, I'm quite sure I can," she caught glimpse of herself in the mirror. Her hair, usually flawless and tied back into a bow, looked not dissimilar from a bird's nest. The favourite blue bow was quite literally dangling. Her dress, a clean and crisp yellow to match, had streaks of soot stretching across its length. She looked, in no uncertain terms, an absolute catastrophe. And, to be honest, it seemed James had influenced her, unknowingly, gradually, all these months, because the more she gaped at herself, her horrified countenance staring back, the more she came to the rather shocking conclusion that it was funny. It was utterly and incomparably hilarious. And so, to the shock of everyone present, she snorted. And then she lost it.

If there was anything Mr. Evans did not expect, it was to open the door, call out his compulsory "Honey, I'm home!" and stumble in to find his two children and James on the parlor floor, clutching their sides, and roaring with laughter. What's more, Lily and James were the clean ones, and Petunia was filthy.

Unlike most men of his time, Thomas had no compunction about expressing his emotions. And as mad as it sounds, he almost cried of pure joy at the sight. Much as he loved Petunia, he often worried for her. Even at nine (-and-a-half!, she would always remind him) years old, she was as demure and proper as the Queen, and to be brutally honest, occasionally rather snotty about it. Clueless as the bloke could often be, he knew she struggled to make mates — or, at least, the kind she could truly count on. But to see her like this, a mess, just as a child of nine (-and-a-half) years should be, and not at all composed, was a relief. To know that she could still, for lack of a better term, act as a child, was incredibly reassuring. With everything he need fuss about, such as it be that Lily would, sooner than he'd like, learn things far beyond that which he had the capacity to understand, that she would be taken into a world that he could not lead or even follow her through, and that she might never come back, to see this encouraging development in Petunia, was, well, encouraging. The Potter boy, a mess as he may be, was good for them, and he was grateful for it.

"Rose! Rose, dear," he whisper-yelled. "You must see this!"

Now, as apprehensive as Thomas was about Lily's future and their inability as her parents to control it, Rose was much, much worse. This was her baby — her dear, sweet baby girl — and she had nothing anymore to which she could anchor herself, no comfort she could find, in Lily's path. But Rose dealt with it very differently from Thomas. She latched onto something she could control, and unfortunately for her older daughter, that was Petunia. Now that Euphemia had, rather forcefully, mind you, taken Lily under her wing and begun homeschooling her along with James, teaching her the basic and necessary Muggle education as well as informing her about magic and the Wizarding World, Rose had decided to ensure Petunia received the very best they could offer her in the means of a prestigious private school, the Langsford Academy for Young Women, one which fostered students from year 3 until year 13. Petunia had, through several recommendation letters and essays, already been accepted, but she was also eligible for an academic scholarship, with an interview scheduled for the next day. Needless to say, Rose was a bit of a frenzied mess.

So when she saw the parlor, in all of its singed glory, and her oldest daughter not much better, her reaction was vastly different from Thomas's.

"What've you lot done?" she more or less wailed. The children froze. "I just finished cleaning the parlor, and Petunia — your hair! Your dress! This- This is inexcusable! Have you lost all sense? Or do you wish for your father and I to pay pence and pound to send to your new school?"

"Rose," Thomas attempted to interject, but she steamrolled on, evidently having not heard him.

"I can only hope you manage to do something with yourself before your interview tomorrow!"

"Isndjdjsodnehsl," mumbled Petunia.

"What was that?" gritted Rose.

"I don't see why I ought to go to this new school," she repeated dutifully yet defiantly.

Rose let out a long sigh. "We will discuss this later. Go to your room, and for heaven's sakes, take a bath! I will clean up here. You two," she addressed James and Lily, "go play."

"Are you sure you wouldn't rather us stay and help?" offered James. "It was our fault — well, mine, not Petunia's."

Rose smiled gently. "No, darling, it's fine. Petunia ought to have known better. She is the eldest. Run along now; you two needn't worry."

Petunia bit her tongue and traipsed up to her room silently.

Hours later, after all parties had calmed and Petunia properly fixed and prepped for her looming interview, Thomas dared to breach the subject.

He set the children to bed, then went to find his wife. When he finally stumbled across her, she was kneeling at the foot of the bed, head downcast, and pleading to God.

"Please, Lord, I know I've never really believed, that I never bothered with church or reading the Bible, but please, if you exist in any way, shape, or form, give me the strength to raise my daughter. I don't know anything about magic, and I feel like I'm failing as a mother, failing her, for not being able to understand her. I've become a bystander in my own daughter's life, and I've no clue what to do about any of it. How can I compete with magic? How can my dull world compare or prepare me for what's to come? How can I hold my family together? Please, just do something. Take it away, perhaps, or give it to me so I can know what she's going through. Something, God, please, something. I need to do something."

And Thomas understood. He took her hand in his and said, "Help us to be the parents our daughters deserve, to do right by them, and to always be there, however we can, whatever it takes. Amen."

Rose sniffled. "I don't even know why I did that. You were always the religious one. I don't know what I hoped to gain."

"Comfort and perspective," he told her. "It's all we can to do what we perceive to be the right thing. One step at a time."

Unbeknownst to them, Lily was hiding in the shadows, having witnessed it all.

"What d'you think'll happen, when we get to Hogwarts?" Lily asked James one afternoon during "recess", though she really was addressing the universe.

"Well, we'll be Sorted," he began, "and then there'll be a lot of food."

"No, I know that," she said impatiently. "I guess I meant, 'whaddya think will happen to all of us, me and you and Tuney, when we're at Hogwarts and she's here?'"

James seemed confused. "What do you mean? We'll write her letters everyday detailing our fabulous exploits at Hogwarts where we're wildly popular, and she'll write back about how boring life is here and how much of a neat freak your mum is getting to be," he explained, as if it were that simple. "Oh," he added devilishly, "and then one day you'll realize how super duper handsome I am and you'll fall madly in love with me, and we'll get married and Tuney will be your maid of honor." He leaned back against the tree, nodding with smug satisfaction at something that was clearly inevitable.

Lily laughed. "I will not!" she protested. "You're insane to think so, Potter."

"I am not insane!" he shot back. "I am a psychic! No, that's not right. A prophetsizer! A prophet! A — what's the word?"

"A Seer?" provided Lily.

"A Seer!" repeated James.

"A madman!" she mocked.

"You doubt my abilities, but you'll see! You'll all see!"

"And who are 'we all?'" asked Lily not-so-patiently.

"The whole world," James declared as though it were obvious.

"You think the whole world cares about you and whether you're right or wrong?" she asked skeptically.

"Yes, yes, I do," he said truthfully.

For this was all James knew, this life full of love and adoration, where he was the center of the universe and where everyone presumably worshiped him. Which he didn't mind, seeing as how James loved attention. And he just knew, someday, that he'd be worth all of it. He was meant for amazing things, for a glorious life, and it seemed only fitting that Lily and Tuney be his sidekicks in it. He couldn't wait to go to Hogwarts and unlock his full potential, and he was thrilled that Lily would be there with him, even if Petunia wouldn't. Somehow, things would work out in his favor. They always had.

Lily, meanwhile, was much less self-assured. Brave as she was, it was always comforting to know good, solid facts about the thing you're about to dive headfirst into before you dive headfirst into it, if that makes any sense. And it seemed, despite all the lessons Mrs. Potter gave her and the games she was learning and the "Quidditchcation" (James named it, obviously) her trusty mate was providing her, she was still about to dive blindfolded. And the trouble with diving blind is that you could land in a beautiful lake or on solid ground and you don't know which until you land. And Lily was rather fond of her neck unbroken.

For all she knew, she could absolutely suck at magic. She could be, singlehandedly, the largest magical trainwreck to ever walk the corridors of Hogwarts, and she wouldn't have a bloody clue until she was midway through humiliating herself in front of everybody she'd be surrounded by for the next seven years. And while James being there would certainly be a comfort, it was a boarding school, for crying out loud! If she had a bad day, nay, the worst day in the history of all bad days, she couldn't just go home to Mum and Dad! Or Tuney! She'd be separated from Tuney for the first time in forever. And while her sister could be a bit of a pain, Lily simply couldn't imagine leaving her.

And what if Lily and James were sorted into different Houses? I mean, they were pretty similar children, Lily thought, but they certainly had their differences. Which one of them would determine whether or not she'd spend those seven long years with him or competing against?

James glanced over at Lily and groaned. "You're doing it again."

Lily flinched in surprise. "Doing what?"

"Worrying. I know you too well, Evans. Your face gets all scrunched up and weird when you're worried. Whatever it is, it'll be fine," he told her, plopping down on his back.

Lily moved to lie next to him, and they stared at the sky for awhile. "And what if it's not?" she asked.

James shrugged. "Then it's not, I guess. But it will be."

"Why? Because the great James Potter wishes it so?" teased Lily.

"Exactly," he agreed. "I am a Seer, after all."

Lily laughed. "You don't even know what that is."

"Do too!"

"Do not!"

"Do too!"

"Do not!"

"Do too!" he insisted.

Lily picked up a twig and threw it at him. It hit him square between the eyes and broke apart, causing him to blink rapidly. "You didn't see that coming, didja?" she said smugly.

James scowled.

* * *

Petunia tightened her tie and glanced nervously in the mirror. She looked perfect, really, but that fact didn't stop her stomach from catapulting about itself a few times.

"Petunia, darling!" called her mother. "It's almost time to leave! You oughtn't be late on your first day!"

Petunia sighed and grabbed her bag. It seemed her mother only spoke to her in ought's and ought not's now. Why was she so obsessed with her all of the sudden? And why was Lily allowed to roam free? It wasn't fair. What had she done wrong? Why was Mum so cross with her all of a sudden?

She thought back to her interview. The lady was dreadfully dull, with pinched grey eyes and a double chin that Lily would have made fun of. The entire time she sat there, the lady seemed to crinkle her nose as though something stank badly. (After some surreptitious sniffing of her own, Petunia ascertained that nothing smelled suspicious, and especially not her.) Still, the lady stood and shook Petunia's perfectly clean hand.

"This polite young lady will fit in very well at the Academy, I'm sure," she had told Mum.

Was that a good thing?

"Do you hear that, Petunia?" Mom had said. "This is the first day of the rest of your life."

At the Potter residence, Mrs. Potter had noticed Lily's descent into thinly veiled panic and had quite taken it upon herself to mentor the child pre-Hogwarts. After all, the more you knew something, the less likely you were to cower in fear at it.

"Now, I take it," she began briskly, "that you have only ever done accidental magic?"

Lily's head bobbed up and down nervously. She resisted the urge to gulp.

"Well, it is true that underage magic can be rather dangerous and, I suppose, potentially disastrous," conceded Mrs. Potter. "Merlin knows my darling James would likely set the house on fire if I tried to teach him anything before we shipped him off to Hogwarts, and then where would we be? Still," she mused, "you, my dear, seem a powerful talent and a gentle soul. I see little harm in teaching you a few tricks. But it must be our little secret, yes, dear?" She winked at Lily.

"Only if you believe I can handle it, Mrs. Potter," answered Lily reluctantly. She started to relax, as Mrs. Potter had a calming way about her, and oh, she thought, wouldn't it be such fun to keep a secret from James?

Mrs. Potter studied Lily, as if trying to determine which lesson might yet yield the least disastrous results. Lily might have squirmed under her gaze if not for the twinkle in the woman's eyes, a twinkle quite identical to her son's.

"Right," announced Mrs. Potter. "I've just the thing." She turned and plucked a rosebud from a nearby vase — the Potter home was always in abundance of flowers — and handed it to Lily.

"Um, thanks?" said Lily uncertainly.

Mrs. Potter laughed. "Have faith, little one! This is a simple trick. I want you to make it bloom."

"But how?" asked Lily in confusion.

"You must answer that yourself," replied Mrs. Potter kindly. "Do what feels right."

Lily took a deep breath, squinched up her eyes, and concentrated. James' voice howled with laughter in her head, telling her she looked as though she were trying to have a good poop. Dismayed, Lily opened one eye. The bud hadn't moved. _Do what feels right_ , she reminded herself. This time, she relaxed her face and focused on the bud itself. She could feel it in her hand, physically, but she could also detect a faint warmth emanating from the plant, a life. In fact, she could feel it all around them, in the other flowers and in Mrs. Potter and herself and tiny traces of it everywhere, where people had been not too long ago. She willed some of that warmth — not too much, but just a little — into the bud, and sure enough, when she opened her eyes, a fully formed rose was in her hand.

Mrs. Potter beamed at her. "Very good, dear. Was it as hard as you anticipated?"

"At first," Lily retorted defensively but good-naturedly. She could see now that she'd been foolish to stress so much over something that truly came naturally to her. And as the terror began to drip away, excitement settled deeply in its place. "That was really fun!" she declared. "Can we do more?"

Mrs. Potter laughed again, a pleasant sound that filled the room. "Lily dear, think of this as the first day of the rest of your life."


End file.
